


Barter

by stateofintegrity



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:14:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26905690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity
Summary: Klinger makes a deal with Hawkeye. Charles disapproves of the terms.
Relationships: Maxwell Klinger/Charles Emerson Winchester III
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Barter

For a moment, Charles Emerson Winchester III was convinced that he’d been hit on the head, ingested something mind altering, or was dreaming without the intervening act of falling asleep. 

He blinked to make the scene come back into focus but, nope, still incomprehensible. 

There was Hunnicutt, drinking disgustingly over-sweetened tea against the chill and simpering over the latest letters (always plural) from Peg. 

There was Pierce, ogling, alike, the male and female form, shaped by athletics, on the pulp-print pages of his magazine  _ United Nudes.  _ United against  _ what _ (panty lines? Laundry?) Charles had never discovered. 

And there was Max. 

Pretty, precious, pixie-boned Max.

Dressed in… what, exactly? For that matter,  _ doing  _ what exactly? He registered the apron first, felt that the baggy garment under it seemed familiar - something he’d seen Klinger in before? - chuckled inside at the drop-glass earrings that Klinger wore when he was particularly happy about something, and paused on the dustpan that Klinger was keeping in place with a saddle shoe. 

“Gentlemen,” his voice was dry as Muscadet, and it made everyone snap to, “while I have absolutely no doubt that I will regret asking this, why is Max  _ cleaning _ ?” 

Hawk kept his eyes averted - a tell. “What do you care? You like clean.”

“I care because the Corporal already serves as a corpsman, a nurse, a sentry, a clerk, a kitchen aid, a chauffeur, and a stable hand. Did I miss anything, Maxwell?” 

“Just the sewing, Major, but I guess that’s for me.” 

“Nonsense. It does wonders for morale. But, with so full a plate, I cannot conceive why you should be sweeping the Swamp - the definition of futility if there ever was one - at ten thirty at night.” 

The Major supposed it might be money problems, but, if so, why hadn’t Klinger come to him? They were friends - and, hell, everyone else did. No, something was positively  _ off  _ about the whole scene, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. 

Without looking up from his letter, Hunnicutt informed Klinger that the floor was probably as clean as it was going to get. Since a literal parade of rats was not marching, nose to tail, across it, Charles had to concur - but he watched Klinger sweep gratefully out and felt bothered, just the same. 

It kept him up later than he wanted to be, tossing, trying to figure out why Max - why all of them - had looked so alarmed at his arrival. Was he that bad? That his mere presence drained the coziness from the lantern-lit scene? Had he been wrong about their friendship? It wasn’t as though he had much former experience in the role. Perhaps he had misread or presumed too much. He was about to sink into despair when a pair of socks thwacked off his broad chest. 

“What was that for, Hunnicutt?” 

“Shh. You’ll wake up Hawk.” He motioned him to the “porch” outside. There, they sat in the absurd lounge chairs Hawkeye had hammered together from scraps. They were, Charles had to admit, a little more comfortable than his cot, anyway. 

“Why the sudden need for a moonlit conference?” 

“Because I could hear you thinking clear across the tent and it was Hawk’s idea, so don’t go busting the kid’s chops over it, okay?” 

“As per most of our conversations, I recognize only the smallest parts of what you are referencing. I was thinking, yes, about the odd party you and Pierce and Maxwell made, but the rest is quite the mystery.” 

For one of the only times in their acquaintance, Charles saw Hunnicutt exhibit real regret. Then he gave a rueful laugh. “Should’ve kept my mouth shut.”

“P’raps, but you may as well have out with it now.” 

“Only if you don’t come down on Klinger.” 

“If Pierce is the responsible party for… whatever it is we are obliquely discussing, I promise to leave Maxwell well out of it.” 

So, Hunnicutt told him about the deal. It went something like this: 

  1. Klinger was mad about a certain resident of the Swamp, a fact Hawk wasn’t above exploiting. 
  2. In return for turn down and clean up service (but mostly to watch Klinger flounce around in an apron and flounces), Hawk had no problem lending Klinger Charles’ worst dress shirt to wear as a dress - with maybe a drop of cologne on the collar to turn his nose into. 



That night, BJ learned that he had never actually seen Winchester angry before. 

It was kind of awesome… but in the way that a thunderstorm was - better at a remove. 

Hawkeye was unceremoniously dumped from his bunk and scolded so thoroughly and rapidly that even he could not get a word in edgewise! There was a great deal about honor and exploitation and using a man’s feelings against him, and by the time it was said and done, a very startled Hawkeye Pierce, defender of the downtrodden (usually) was actually being called out for prejudice! 

“You would not have acted nearly so callously if it had been O’Reilly,” Charles informed him.

“That’s ridiculous!” Pierce protested. “Besides, you’re just pissed off because it’s about  _ you _ !

Charles didn’t roll his eyes, but they sensed he wished to. “Yes, Pierce. I am devastated by this blow to my sterling reputation and needs must take to my bed for weeks so as to recover. Did you forget where we are, man!? Maxwell’s affection concerns me only in that it might endanger  _ him _ \- but you have been his friend for years and yet you think so little of him that you would use the truest part of him against him  _ to see your chores done _ with no thought to the fact that you might hurt or embarrass him. Why?” 

Pierce’s mouth came open, but Charles went on without him. 

“Because he is not educated? I remind you that O’Reilly was no genius, either.”

Hunnicutt decided to help his friend, “Now hold on,” 

“So it must be something else. The dresses? No, because you treat those as normal enough.”

In fact, Hawk had stuck his neck out with Potter to keep Klinger in skirts, but Charles didn’t feel like dwelling on the man’s good qualities at the moment. 

“It cannot be the boy’s youth. O’Reilly is the same age. Which leaves what, precisely, gentlemen? What makes O’Reilly off limits but allows you to harm his counterpart? Could it be that he is not corn-and-potato-fed Iowan white?” 

“That’s ridiculous!” Pierce exclaimed. He’d chastised racist COs and saved LIPs from indentured servitude. Besides, this was  _ Charles  _ \- the sane surgeon who’d gone half-mad at the vision of his sister marrying an Italian. 

“Perhaps there are other reasons, then. Whatever they are, allow me to caution you against any further attempts to tease or humiliate the Corporal in my name. He does not deserve it and I will not abide it.”

Then he was gone and an open-mouthed Pierce stared at his best friend. “We… what the? Did you…?!”

“We do make a lot of cracks at the kid’s expense.” Hadn’t Margaret recently debuted the alliterative “Arabian aardvark” as insult of the week? 

“As opposed to that, that  _ elitist!?” _

“Looks like he changed his mind. About Klinger, anyway. I guess we should be proud of him.” 

Hawk harrumphed at that. “I’ve got a whole list of feelings about him, but pride’s not on it.”

Knowing he would stew if not distracted, BJ made him a drink. “Look, it’s an easy enough fix. Tell Winchester you were wrong to play on the kid’s feelings. Don’t _ ever _ tell Winchester how you impersonate his voice to get under Klinger’s skin. And go back to leaving the floor a mess.” 

Hawkeye continued to sulk. 

BJ decided to throw him a bone. “You happen to catch what Winchester took with him?” 

When Hawk realized what it had been, and what it must mean, his bad mood evaporated in favor of speculation. 

“I guess I can’t be that mad at him, then, considering.”

“Nope,” BJ agreed. 

“But I can still put worms in his boots?” This was hopeful. 

“Sure - why not? C’mon, let’s go find some.” 

***

While Hawkeye was processing the fact that he might have mistreated a friend (and searching for worms), Winchester was staring into a pair of wide, frightened eyes. He forced a laugh he did not feel. “Am I truly as bad as that? I broke up one gathering tonight merely by  _ walking through the door _ . If you insist on regarding me with such distrust and distress, Max, I shall begin to take it personally.” 

Klinger stepped aside to let him in. “I trust you, sir.”

_ Sir, hmm _ ? Klinger only used “sir” when he was uncertain or upset, but Charles had hope that he could win a gentler form of address. “I brought you something.”

Klinger took the offered garment, but he braced himself, as if for a blow. “I knew they wouldn’t keep their mouths shut. Captains…”

Charles saw the younger man ready to explain, to apologize, perhaps. “Aren’t you going to see if it will suit? The other one was too worn, but this one should make a fine dress. A blue belt, I think?”

Klinger unfolded the fabric and smoothed it over his slim frame. It was well-made, though the buttons needed dressed up a bit. “I can never find the blue I really want.” He touched his own face under the eye. “Watch it all the time, though.”

“I noticed. And I am sorry, my dear, about Pierce. He had no right.” 

Klinger shrugged. “I was stupid for letting him see. Sure didn’t t think I’d be getting a present out of it.”

“You look so winning in so many things, I could hardly deny you something so small.” He reached out, lifted his chin with two fingers. “Why did you not ask  _ me _ ?” 

Klinger was breathing fast. “I don’t want to lose you as my friend.”

“Not even to gain more than friendship?”

Max fought hard not to dip his hand into that touch, to physically plead for more by moving his head side to side, but he said, “I wouldn’t,” he took a quick, indrawn breath, “I wouldn’t have fallen for you, Major, if you hadn’t been my friend first.”

“You have many friends, my dear.”

Max shook his head, but made no move to free himself from that touch. “Not like you. I’ve never even seen anyone like you, Major…” He swallowed hard. “Dreamed about you, I think, though. But I get it, why it can’t happen. You don’t have to say all of it, sir.”

Charles had never consciously considered the barriers between them, but the gentle thing’s clear discomfort made him put himself in Klinger’s heels for a moment. He was the superior officer, the educated one, the professional.  _ And you imagine that all you can have of me is a shirt that once took its warmth from my skin.  _

“Maxwell, a shirt is a terribly small ask.” 

The Corporal searched his eyes to see if he was teasing him. He and Charles went back and forth a lot. He usually enjoyed it and it helped him hide when his feelings became too intense. 

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Charles used his thumb to trace the bone of his cheek. “I am merely attempting to get you to think like a Winchester. You asked for what you thought you could gain. What, Maxwell, my dear, do you actually  _ want _ ?”

Klinger’s lips moved then, took on an expression Charles had seen before. It was technically a smile - a species of one, anyway - but a smile of a resigned sort. “I don’t get the things that I want, Major. Some things… you just learn better than to even ask.”

Charles tilted his head to the left - a prey bird’s gesture of confusion; his eyes, to the man he was facing, were just as arresting; they formed and contained a personal horizon that obscured everything beyond it. “Who taught you that?”   


The younger man shrugged. “Life? Maybe you didn’t notice, Major, but I’m kinda enjoying a streak of bad luck here.”

“The draft,” Charles agreed. “But that trammeled more wings than just yours.”

Klinger wondered what it might be like to live inside a mind where words like “trammeled” rose easily to the surface. The Major carried his own poetry around with him. It was too bad he didn’t speak gently more often; he was nice to listen to when he did. “Sure. Then there’s the divorce.” He held up one finger to tally this loss. “Then my family moved out West so I don’t even know  _ where _ I wanna go back to.” A second finger joined the first. “Then there’s the whole clerking thing.” He sighed. He might have added to this, might have said that he endured a more than fair share of abuse for his costumes, was generally overworked, was terrified more often than not.

Charles was nodding at him as if he knew the rest anyway. “Luck is a changeable entity, Maxwell. Just because Fortune has not lately showed you her fairer face does not mean that she never shall. And, canny as you are, you strike me as the sort to change your own luck if an opportunity presents itself.” 

When speaking with Charles, Max was often seized with the desire to beg:  _ say it plain, sir, please _ \- and this was one of those times. It seemed like Charles could be flirting with him - he had brought him that shirt, and Max knew from touch alone just how expensive it was, the cloth finer than anything he could afford to work with - but the concept simply didn’t add up. Was Charles  _ capable _ of flirting? And if he was, would he condescend (Max knew  _ that _ word) to do so with an enlisted man more likely to wear heels than combat boots? “Maybe,” he agreed, “but right now… I’m scared, Charles.” 

_ You must be. _ The Major knew that Max only used his name in emotionally charged moments. “Of me?”

“I did kinda trample on your privacy, sir.”

“Sir,” was actually  _ worse _ than his rank; its use told him that Max was upset. “Maxwell, do correct me if I am wrong, but you did not open my footlocker, did you?”

“No, sir.” 

“And the offer to do so came from Pierce, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“By my reading, Pierce invaded my privacy, which he does most days, anyway. You, on the other hand, are quite welcome to the sad remnants of my civilian wardrobe, and I would have told you as much if you had asked me.” 

“Major… am I hearing you right? Because what I think you’re saying is that I can sleep in your shirts and if I can, I really want to. If not, can you just kinda forget I said anything for like the whole rest of the war?”

The corners of his mouth turned up; Max could be adorable and had been sweeping the Swamp (unjust as such a role had been), and was now, torn between hope and worry. “You are quite welcome to the shirts, my dear, but I am attempting to offer you more than that. Maxwell, you may wear whatever you wish, but might you consider sleeping in my arms?” 

These words won Charles a little gasp that he locked away in his memory to replay on days when he felt lost or low. 

Klinger was still nodding yes when he took him into his arms, still nodding yes when he kissed him for the first time (though, Charles suspected, this yes was the answer to a different question entirely), and he laughed a helpless little laugh against his lips when they drew apart. 

“Darling?”

“Jus’ thinking about fairy tales, Major. Isn’t that the only place this kinda thing happens? Going from sweeping the floors to getting swept up?”

Charles knew an ask when he heard one - and he’d been wanting to see if his imaginings would be borne out. It turned out that he hadn’t possessed the imagination or the good sense to envision Max’s legs catching at his hips - a motion so gentle and unrehearsed and right that it more than half-converted him to a host of poetic imaginings at which he had always scoffed. 

By the end of the night, Max would gently finish convincing him - and he really did look better in his shirt than anyone had a right to. As the Corporal slept, Charles smoothed the bartered fabric around his enticing frame and folded down the collar to murmur words of love into his collarbone. He smiled without meaning to, thinking he would need to buy new clothes - not out of any need, but out of the desire to see Max in them… or Max removing them, at least.  _ I will give you everything, my dear,  _ he silently promised,  _ and you will never again be called on to barter with your heart _ . Winchesters protected their treasures like dragons, after all, and Charles had never had anything quite so precious to look after as the gentle form curled into his side. 

End! 


End file.
